


Burn With Me

by TyrannyRat



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dysfunctional Relationships, Eventual Smut, Fake AH Crew, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Coercion, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-08-31 11:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8576557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyrannyRat/pseuds/TyrannyRat
Summary: Michael was fire. He was fire and he was rage and all who got too close was consumed by his flames. Gavin was gold. He shone so brightly, people were blinded to his true nature. Everyone wanted him. They’d do anything for him, even kill.Michael grew up in an abusive home in Los Santos. When the police prevent his frequent bids for freedom, he finds escape in arson. But even with fire to relieve his stress, he'd do anything to get away from his parents. He meets Gavin Free, a member of the most notorious gang in Los Santos. Gavin offers Michael a better life, a life where Michael's unique taste for destruction would be rewarded...





	1. Spark of Flame

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write RPF. Maybe this doesn't count, as it's an AU.

_Michael was fire. He was fire and he was rage and all who got too close was consumed by his flames._

  


Michael was five years old when he first ran away from home.

He was tired of all the yelling, tired of all the hurting. Fresh bruises forming on his body, he fled the house with his father’s screams echoing after him. He had no idea where he was going and he didn’t care. He just wanted out. It didn’t take long for the police to pick him up. They didn’t even ask about his injuries. They just dropped him off back at home with a warning to listen to his parents.

This became a routine. It seemed he was trying to run away at least once a month. His father would cut him, or his mother would slap him, and he’d snap and bolt out the door. His parents stopped bothering to try and stop him. He would just get picked up the police. He would try to run, but they always caught him. They didn’t care about the scars on his arms, or the black eyes, or the split lips. The police in Los Santos had bigger fish to fry. They just dumped Michael back at his parents, giving him exasperated warnings.

  


Michael was seven when he realized he felt empty.

He didn’t have any friends. He knew that should upset him, but it didn’t. He didn’t want friends. He didn’t even like other children. In fact, he hated them. Every shout of laughter, every sunny smile was like someone driving a blade into his skull. Why did they get to have parents who hugged them and hung their drawings on the fridge when Michael had to see his art ripped up in front of him? Why did they get to eat three meals a day while Michael lived off his parents’ table scraps? Who gave them the right to be so happy when he was so miserable? It wasn’t fair, so he decided to even the odds a little.

Michael did what his father taught him to do. When you had a problem, solve it with violence. Michael pushed the other children over, hit them, screamed at them. He ended up in the principal’s office and every time they called home, Michael knew he was in for another beating, but it was still worth it. Every bruise Michael caused, every drop of blood he drew filled up that hollow part of himself for just a little while.

  


Michael was nine when he started his first fire.

He was afraid of his father’s lighter. Sometimes, when his father was especially angry, he would flick on the lighter and hold it to Michael’s skin until it blistered. Michael would cry and struggle, but it did little to deter the abuse. One day, Michael stole the lighter. At first, he just wanted to keep his father from being able to use it as a weapon, but Michael couldn’t help being curious about what fire could do. He knew he shouldn’t play with it indoors, so he ran outside into the shitty trailer park he tentatively called home. It didn’t take him long to find a stick. He hid behind his trailer and after a few tries, flicked on the lighter. He held it up to the piece of wood and watched it smoke and char until it finally caught fire. Michael was delighted. It was so pretty, watching the flames dance and flicker.

His father got a new lighter but Michael secretly kept the old one. He carried it with him everywhere. When he came across leaves, sticks, particular long blades of grass, he would pause and find a good hiding spot before lighting it on fire. He soon got bored with such small, controlled fires. He started looking for things that would give him more of thrill. He started catching bugs just to set them aflame, and while he never went further than that, he couldn’t help wondering what something bigger, like a person, would look like on fire.

When he burned things, Michael felt even better than he did when he hurt people. He felt alive, like there was his own personal fire burning in his chest, filling up the hole inside Michael. Eventually, though, the fire would burn out, and Michael would have to keep setting fires to keep the one inside him burning.

  


Michael was eleven when he went to juvenile detention.

It was his biggest fire yet and it was an _accident._ Michael found that funny. He had just been burning some weeds in large field. The brown, dry grass felt scratchy against his legs and it caught on his pants and shirt. He was playing a game with the long stalks. Ripping them up and holding them to light one end and seeing how long he could hold it until the flames got to close. Then he would wave it in the air, putting the fire out. He was transfixed by the brightness of the flame in the dark of the night, the way it slowly crawled up the stem of the grass. So much so, that he forgot to put it out before it burned him. With a yelp, he dropped it and almost as soon as he did, there was a roaring inferno he had to scramble back from lest he got caught in the flames.

It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. The fire rose high into the sky, spread out for hundreds of feet. It was almost as bright as day now. Michael noticed the fire inching closer to the neighborhood homes and he couldn’t help but hope. Urging the flames to consume everything, leaving a devastating path of destruction that _Michael_ caused. It was better than anything Michael had ever felt before.

When he heard the approaching sirens, he booked it, but he wasn’t quick enough. With his track record, and the fact that he had been running from the scene of an arson, Michael didn’t stand a chance. His appointed lawyer suggested he take a plea bargain for a reduced sentence. Michael agreed and he was sent to juvie for one year.

Michael wished he hadn’t taken the bargain. Prison was actually pretty nice. Three square meals a day, he didn’t get burned or cut or punched or kicked everyday, and when he did it was because _he_ picked a fight, and he got to hit back. His propensity for fighting, however, got him often thrown in solitary, which was the only time he’d rather be at home. It was _so boring._ He even tried to control his temper to avoid solitary, but nothing could stop his white, hot rage from spilling out of him and driving him to violence. When Michael was released, he suspected everyone was glad to see him go.

  


Michael was thirteen when he finally understood something.

It was time for graduation day. Michael had enough of little fires that barely caused any damage. Today, he was going to set fire to an actual building. He was sorely tempted to set a skyscraper on fire, especially an occupied one, but the threat of what would happen to him if he was caught was too much. So instead he settled on an abandoned building. He was practically doing the city a favor. He was a volunteer demolitionist. He crawled in through a broken window, gas can in hand. The smell of gasoline was heady as he poured it out on the floor and splashed it on the walls. It smelled of promise. Promise of a fire greater than Michael had ever set before. Once the can was empty, he slipped back out through the window.

He was using matches instead of a lighter, this time, since he didn’t want to be in the building or too close to the flames with this one. Matches could be thrown and still remain lit. Michael held his breath as he struck the match. He kept holding it, his fingers trembling slightly. This was it. This was going to be a big one. He could go to jail for years if he was caught. It would be worth it. Michael tossed the match through the window and didn’t exhale until he saw the first lick of flame. It spread incredibly fast thanks to the gasoline. Soon the whole building was consumed by fire. Michael crossed the street and entered an alleyway. He could watch it from here, but escape unnoticed as soon as he heard sirens.

He watched it, licking his dry lips, breathing picked up. God, it was so beautiful and Michael _made_ it. It was exhilarating, it was liberating. Hell, it was _arousing,_ he realized. Which was a little weird, but Michael didn't question it. He just spent a little longer than usual in the shower when he got home.

  


Michael was on the cusp of eighteen when he met Gavin Free.

Only a few more months. A few more months and he would be free. Well, not free, exactly. He didn’t actually have anywhere to go. Even so, once he turned eighteen, he could run away from home and the cops wouldn’t be able to do shit about it. No more getting dumped on his parents’ doorstep, no more beatings, no more pain. Even being homeless would be better. As of now, he wanted to start a fire, as he often did. It was actually… kind of getting boring. He was surprised he hadn’t been caught yet, but he was running out of shacks and abandoned buildings to burn down. On top of that, after burning shit for almost nine years, the novelty began to wear off. He wasn’t getting that thrill anymore. He was hollow again. It was frustrating, but he just kept making fires, in hopes it would all come back to him.

Tonight’s target was simple, but interesting. There was an abandoned car lot on the outskirts of town, and in that car lot were a few abandoned cars. Michael had never done a car before, and he was hoping something new would bring back that spark. He took a bus out to the area and hopped the rickety chain link fence that stood between him and the lot. He wondered if cars exploded like they did on television. They probably didn’t but Michael was about to find out. He dumped kerosene (gasoline was getting expensive) all over the the inside of the car and lit it up. He made sure to keep his distance in case it did explode. Though, after awhile, it became apparent that it would not. How disappointing. “That’s a lovely lil’ bonfire you’ve got going there,” said a cheerful, British voice right behind Michael. Michael yelped and whirled around. There was a thin, lanky man, now doubled over with laughter at Michael’s reaction. His hair was sticking up and he was apparently the kind of douchebag who liked to wear gold chains and sunglasses at night.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Michael demanded. The man collected himself and stood up, still grinning stupidly.

“I’m Gavin!”


	2. Flash of Gold

_Gavin was a gold. He shone so brightly, people were blinded to his true nature. Everyone wanted him. They’d do anything for him; even kill._

  


Gavin grew up wanting for nothing. Nothing except for his parents’ approval and affection. His parents were from high society, both having inherited large amounts of money from dead relatives. They were involved in a lot of social activities, most of which involved drinking, and he was often left home alone, even when he was very young. As an only child living in the small town of Thame with little parental guidance to speak of, he was bound to get into trouble, but no one could predict what Gavin Free would become.

Gavin’s isolation took its toll on him. Any attention was good attention. He acted out at school and got a little kick out of being scolded. He tried being good, he really did, but when it only garnered him the occasional, dismissive “that’s nice, dear,” Gavin quickly learned that being naughty was far more rewarding. Despite receiving phone calls, Gavin’s parents never really punished him for acting up at school. They simply weren’t a presence in his life, and Gavin sought out others to feed his cravings for attention.

When Gavin was ten years old, he met twelve year old Dan Gruchy, local troublemaker and all around hooligan. Dan showed him the ropes of mischief. Spray-painting graffiti on local businesses, throwing rocks through windows and at cars, shoplifting, and smoking behind the public elementary school. They were inseparable, and as they grew older, their petty crimes gravitated towards more serious offenses. After shooting a bottle rocket into a crowd of people, Dan’s parents got fed up with him and sent him off to military school. Alone once more, Gavin’s cravings for attention escalated into something much more sinister. He was expelled from school for sexual harassment and Gavin’s parents, finally furious with him, sent him to live with his aunt in Los Santos.

Sent to an unfamiliar country, separated from the only home he had ever known, Gavin withdrew into himself. He spent most of his time at home, on his computer. He had taken an interest in computers, and considered becoming a coder. Spending a copious amount of time at home meant he saw a lot more of his aunt’s personal life than he cared to. She brought a lot of men home. They usually wore nice suits or designer clothes. They bought her a lot of gifts and Gavin suspected they were giving her cash as well. He watched how she was with them, always complimenting them and laying the sex appeal on thick. Having been cut off from his parents’ money, he began to wonder if he could pull that act off.

It ended up being _sooooo_ easy. Gavin found he could charm anyone, man or woman. A bit of flattery here, some sultry eye contact there. He could slide his hand up their thigh if they were receptive to it, if they weren’t, a clap on the back and a wide grin did just fine. He didn’t have to be pushy like he was back in school. All he had to do was drop a few subtle hints, maybe add in a little sob story: “if only I could pay for it myself, but my parents cut me off,” “I’d love to have a watch like that. My father had one just like it. I miss him so much,” “gold is so pretty, don’t ya think?” It was almost pathetic how easily they fell for it. Gavin would bleed their wallets dry before dumping them and moving on to the next sucker. It wasn’t just about the money, either. He was getting attention and affection in spades. Having someone trembling underneath him, professing their love for him was a truly powerful and intoxicating feeling. He found himself sometimes feeling like the money was just a bonus compared to the devotion people showed him. Even if it sometimes felt a little empty, considering how easy they gave into him.

With all his newfound disposable income, he was able to buy the latest and greatest in computers. He launched himself full force into figuring out how computers worked, inside and out. It wasn’t long until he found himself experimenting with hacking. It came surprisingly easy to him, Even though he had little to gain from it, it made him feel smart, which wasn’t something he was used to feeling. It was a fun little hobby, something to take his mind off his many troubles.

Then he hacked the wrong person. Well, looking back on it, it was the best decision Gavin had ever made, but at the time, when he had found out that he had hacked Geoff Ramsey, the _leader_ of the Fakes, and said leader IMed Gavin addressing him by his _full name,_ he had been pretty freaked out. There was no need to panic, however. It turned out to be a job opportunity. Geoff wanted a hacker on his team and Gavin was “damn good.” Having no moral qualms with the situation, and being currently out of a job with no real prospects (seeing as he was in America illegally) he readily accepted. He was soon being introduced to the rest of the team. Gavin fit right into the atmosphere of playful teasing and absent morals. Gavin found he couldn’t charm them like he could charm everyone else, but they still liked him all the same. He was surprised when that turned out to be much more fulfilling than any of his familial or “romantic” relationships. Besides, they indulged his need for attention on occasion, stealing gold things for him and putting up with his constant demands for physical touch, be it hugging or spooning on the couch. Gavin moved out of his aunt’s place and into the headquarters when he was sixteen, after only a month of being part of the gang.

Two years later, on his way back home, he saw smoke billowing from the abandoned car lot near HQ. Taking a slight detour, he made his way to the lot and saw the cause. There was a boy standing in front of a flaming car. There was no doubt in Gavin’s mind that this boy was the one who set it on fire. Interesting… Gavin silently made his way through a small gap in the fence and crept closer. He could see the other better now. A bit shorter than him, a little stocky. Gavin could see reddish-brown curls poking out from under the boy’s beanie. An arsonist _and_ cute. Oh, they definitely had to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be back in Michael's POV. I'm not sure if I'm going to do the rest of the story entirely in Michael's POV or switch back and forth between Michael and Gavin.


	3. Spark and Flash

This man… Gavin, was grinning so cheerfully at Michael that Michael couldn’t help but feel a little more at ease with him than he should, considering Gavin was a stranger who snuck up on him in the middle of the night. Not sensing any threat had loosened his tongue, which was definitely a bad thing. “So… what the fuck do you want?” This was why Michael always ended up in fights. He was abrasive and unapologetic about it. However, Gavin’s smile didn’t falter, instead it widened.

“Is this your first fire?” Michael raised his eyebrows. He wasn't sure how much he should trust this guy. Obviously, the answer was not at all, but he looked so goofy and non-threatening. Michael was torn between wanting to tell Gavin everything and wanting to punch him in his stupid, silly face.

“I don't know what you're fucking talking about.” Gavin stuffed his hands into his jeans and rocked back on his heels. He looked like he was thinking hard. Michael was tempted to tell him not to strain himself, but Gavin spoke first.

“Oh, c’mon,” he finally said, “don't be a stuffy lil’ smegpot.” A _what?_ “I know you're the one who set that on fire.” He pointed his finger at the car, still burning away behind Michael. Michael was so fucked. If this guy went to the police, he’d be transferred to adult prison as soon as he turned eighteen, and with his past offense, there was no doubt Michael would be spending at least three years behind bars. Michael _really_ didn’t want that to happen. Still, he tried not to look caught and puffed himself up.

“Just because I'm _near_ a fire, doesn't mean I _started_ it, asshole. I saw the smoke and came to check it out. For all I know, you started the fire. You're obviously some sort of goddamned psycho.” Maybe that was a little over the top, but Michael was really trying to sell it. Besides, it was probably a little bit true. What kind of crazy moron would approach someone they thought was an arsonist and try to strike up a friendly conversation? Once again, instead of being offended, Gavin _laughed._

“I just got here. You, on the other hand, were staring pretty intently at that fire, mate. And not a whole lot of staring at your phone. To, you know, call nine-ni-- one-one. That sounded snappier in my head…” Gavin trailed off, frowning slightly. Michael snorted. What an idiot. “Well, anyway, do I look like a cop to you? C’mon, I just want to know how much of a _bad boy_ you are.” Michael didn't like the inflection Gavin put on the phrase “bad boy." It sounded almost… lecherous. Michael felt his cheeks heat up, which only served to irritate him further.

“If I tell you, will you fuck off?” Gavin shrugged.

“Maybe.”

Michael weighed his options. It wasn’t as if the police didn’t already know Michael had an arson offense. So answering Gavin’s question wouldn’t damn Michael any further. “Ugh, Jesus Christ, _fine._ No, it's not my first fire.” To Michael’s displeasure, rather than leaving, Gavin took a few steps closer to him.

“How many?” Gavin sounded a little breathless now, a little excited. It unsettled Michael and he was suddenly painfully aware of how fucked he'd be if Gavin had a weapon and decided to use it. Michael gave a little shrug.

“Uh, I don't know. Hundreds? Thousands? Most of it was small shit, leaves and twigs and bugs or whatever, but I've hit a few abandoned buildings.”

Gavin’s eyebrows raised.

“Bugs?”

“Yeah? So?” _That_ was what Gavin wanted to focus on?

“Have you ever set anything bigger on fire? Y’know, like, living stuff, I mean.” Michael scowled. What, did Gavin think he was some kind of serial killer in the making? What a stupid thing to ask.

“What the fuck kind of question is that? No, of course not!” Gavin seemed unfazed by Michael’s aggressive reply.

“Have you ever wanted to?” This conversation had taken a turn for the worse. Michael shifted uncomfortably, because the answer to that was _yes._ He’d often fantasize about his father screaming and trying to beat the flames off of him, and he had never actually been opposed to the idea of nearby occupied buildings getting consumed by the spreading flames of his fires.

“No…” Michael mumbled, not looking at Gavin. Smooth, real smooth. His discomfort did not go unnoticed.

“Yeah, I believe that.” Gavin's cheery tone was now tinged with sarcasm. Michael balled his fists. Okay, seriously, fuck this guy. He had ten seconds to fuck off before Michael punched him.

“What in the _hell_ do you _want_ from me, anyway?!” Michael’s temper was boiling over, as it so often did.

“To recruit you.”

“I… what?” That caught Michael off guard and his anger drained away to be replaced by confusion. Gavin took another couple steps towards Michael. Michael took a step back.

“I’m part of a little, uh… club here. And I was put in charge of recruiting.” Michael snorted.

“What’s the club? Asking Arsonists Uncomfortable and Personal Questions?” Gavin’s brows knit together and his lips moved slowly, as if sounding something out. “...What the fuck are you doing?”

“A.A.U.P.Q? How would you pronounce that? Ah-oo-pik?” Seriously? This guy was something else. Something annoying.

“I don’t know. Who fucking cares?”

“Ay-uh-puk?”

_“Gavin!”_ Michael cried out, exasperated.

“Wot?” Gavin asked innocently and that one word was so infuriatingly British, that Michael seriously considered just turning around and walking away.

“What’s this club you want me to join.” Gavin brightened.

“Oh, right!” Gavin said, as if he had forgotten about it entirely. “You might have heard of us. The Fakes.” Despite the roaring fire behind him, Michael’s insides went cold. The Fakes. The most violent and infamous gang in history and a member of it was standing right in front of him. Wait… there was _no_ fucking way this moron was a member. There were only a handful of members and they were the best of the best in the particular mayhem they specialized in. This guy… this guy was clearly just best at being ridiculous.

“Don’t fucking bullshit me. There’s no way you’re--” Michael broke off when Gavin tugged something out of his back pocket. The words “oh shit” repeated in his head like a mantra. It was a gun, it was a _fucking gun_. Michael was dead. Instead of pointing it at him, though, Gavin just held it up. The firelight flickered in the reflection of the shiny metal. It was gold. Oh. _Oh._ Holy shit. “Oh,” Michael said weakly. Gavin tucked his gun back into his pocket and whipped off his sunglasses to wink at Michael.

“The one and only Golden Boy, at your service.”


	4. Texts from the Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank "Google or Gavin" for this chapter. Most of those texts were just quotes or paraphrased from that show.

Michael felt a little dizzy. “I think… I think I need to sit down.” Michael flopped down onto the ground unceremoniously. Gavin chuckled and slipped his sunglasses back on.

“I tend to have that effect on people.” His face was smug and Michael felt another strong urge to punch it. He now knew that would be a very, very poor decision, but Michael had never made the best life choices. Hopefully, he'd be able to keep his temper in check.

“And you want me to join the Fakes? Are you fucking joking?” Michael’s tone left it unclear if he was excited at the prospect or revolted. Michael was unsure himself.

“Nah.” Michael waited for clarification, but none was forthcoming.

“Why? Why me?”

“I like you. You're funny and you've got a sadistic streak. Plus, all that anger. I think you'd be a good fit.” Michael wasn't sure what to make of this.

“But--” He broke off when Gavin held up a hand.

“Look, you have plenty of time to make a decision. Nothing's in stone yet. I still have to talk to Geoff, and then you have to meet Geoff, and then there's an initiation. It's all very official and such.” Gavin waved a hand dismissively. Michael found himself unable to speak, for once in his life, at the idea of meeting _Geoff Ramsey._ It was terrifying, but also kind of exciting? “Look, why don't we exchange numbers? Then I can shoot you a text if Geoff okays you or wants to ask you some shit.” Michael nodded numbly.

“Yeah, okay.” He stood and pulled out his phone as Gavin did the same. They exchanged numbers.

“Hey, I totally forgot. I never got your name.” Gavin quirked his head at Michael. Michael hesitated before answering.

“It’s Michael.” Gavin grinned.

“Michael, got it.” He pronounced it kind of like “Micool.” Michael was still trying to process the fact that this idiot was _the_ Golden Boy, hacker extraordinaire and manipulative bastard. Well, Gavin certainly _looked_ the part. Now that Michael was really paying attention to Gavin, he was shocked he didn’t see it before. Golden chains, golden rings, golden shirt buttons, golden fucking _sunglasses._ This guy was like a display mannequin for ridiculous, gaudy shit. “So I guess I’ll see you around,” Gavin said, snapping Michael out of his thoughts.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Michael said, stuffing his hands in his sweater pockets. They made to part ways, but before Michael could get very far, he heard Gavin calling his name.

“Oh, hey, Michael! Michael!” Michael spun around, brows furrowed.

“What?” Gavin waved his phone in the air, stupid grin plastered on his face.

“I just got a cute boy’s number!” Michael’s face heated up instantly.

“Shut up!” Gavin cackled like a hyena and jumped over the fence before Michael could do much more than splutter at him. And thus began the onslaught of the stupidest texts Michael Jones had ever received in his life.

  


It all started out innocently enough, with asking about preferences. It was the middle of the afternoon, the night after Michael had met Gavin. Michael was in class (for once), when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and read it under his desk.

  


[Gold Idiot]: Do you like blue or red better?

[Michael]: Red.

[Gold Idiot]: Figured.

  


But it quickly devolved into the most inane shit Michael had ever had the misfortune to read. That evening, while he was eating dinner.

  


[Gold Idiot]: How do you define a zombie?

[Gold Idiot]: Do you define it as like, someone who died but is still alive?

[Michael]: I… don’t even know how to begin to answer that.

  


They became more frequent, and more stupid.

  


[Gold Idiot]: Could you tan your eyes?

[Michael]: Could you be anymore ridiculous?

[Gold Idiot]: I mean, probably.

[Michael]: Jesus Christ.

  


Some of them seemed to have hints of intelligence in them.

  


[Gold Idiot]: Has there ever been two of the same people?

[Michael]: What?

[Gold Idiot]: There has to be a point where someone is so genetically close to someone else, that there’s basically no difference.

[Michael]: You mean like twins?

[Gold Idiot]: No, they have different fingerprints.

[Michael]: No, Gavin, I don't think there's ever been a naturally occurring human clone.

  


There was one Michael thought could have been a legitimate question had it not been phrased so poorly.

  


[Gold Idiot]: What happens when astronauts think they’re upside down?

[Michael]: What? What does that even mean?

[Gold Idiot]: Well, you know when you first wake up and you’re not sure where you are?

[Michael]: I guess?

[Gold Idiot]: What if they didn’t know they were upside down? The fridge would be upside down, wouldn’t it?

[Michael]: I’m going to stop replying now.

  


Eventually Michael had enough.

  


[Gold Idiot]: What if your legs didn't know they were legs?

[Michael]: Gavin, why do you keep sending me this shit?

[Gold Idiot]: Because it’s funny, Short n’ Shouty.

[Michael]: What the fuck did you just call me?

[Gold Idiot]: That’s my contact name for you.

[Michael]: I hate you.

[Gold Idiot]: That’s what you get for calling me ‘Gold Idiot.’ Don’t think I didn’t see that. By the way, Geoff wants to meet you.

[Michael]: Oh

[Gold Idiot]: That’s it? Just ‘oh’?

[Michael]: Well, excuse me for being fucking nervous. I mean, it’s _Geoff Ramsey._ His rap sheet is probably the longest written work in the English language.

[Gold Idiot]: Naaaah. People exaggerate. A lot of the stuff you hear about him is just rumors.

[Michael]: Really?

[Gold Idiot]: Well, maybe not _a lot_ but some. We all have heard shit about us that isn’t true. If you join us, people will probably spread rumors about you, too. Shit like “I heard he once yelled so loud, he shattered a window and made sixteen people go deaf.”

[Michael]: So, Geoff’s never impaled someone through the ass and out their mouth before?

[Gold Idiot]: Ugh, don’t remind me. Yeah, he did that and I was there. Bloody disgusting. It wasn’t true that the guy was still alive after, though. But it’s not like Geoff makes a habit of impaling people’s asses. That guy just made a huge mistake. Like, the number one mistake.

[Michael]: What’s that?

[Gold Idiot]: He shot Ray, and nobody, _nobody_ fucks with one of us in front of Geoff if they want to live. No, fuck that, nobody fucks with one of us in front of Geoff if they want a quick and painless death.

[Michael]: So Geoff’s basically a papa bear.

[Gold Idiot]: Yeah totally. So nothing to be afraid of. Unless you’re planning on attacking one of us. Then I suggest you wear impaling implement proof pants.

[Gold Idiot]: Same goes with Jack, too, by the way.

[Michael]: Who?

[Gold Idiot]: You’ll meet him when you meet Geoff, but he’s basically the momma bear to Geoff’s papa bear. It’s kind of cute, actually.

[Michael]: I can’t believe we’re talking about the same members of the Fakes that I see on the news basically fucking nightly because you guys did something horrendous.

[Gold Idiot]: Hey, we’re versatile, what can I say?

[Michael]: So when does he want to meet?

[Gold Idiot]: You available tomorrow night? Say around… eleven pm?

[Michael]: Yeah but if you get me caught breaking curfew, I’ll be fucking pissed.

[Gold Idiot]: Afraid you’re going to get grounded? You won’t have to worry about anyone’s rules but ours if you join us.

[Michael]: Yeah, well, until then, I still have to worry about my parents getting pissed at me.

[Gold Idiot]: Why? You don’t seem like the type to give a shit.

[Michael]: I’m not. It’s just, I don’t know. Trust me, it would be bad.

[Gold Idiot]: Ah. Okay.

[Gold Idiot]: But you’re still coming tomorrow night, right?

[Michael]: Yeah.

[Gold Idiot]: Excelleeeent.

[Michael]: Don’t do that. It’s creepy.

[Gold Idiot]: *steeples fingers and cackles evilly*

[Michael]: You know, for a hardened criminal, you sure are a complete dork.


	5. Spark Meets Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shit gets real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot is starting to pick up now.

Winter in Los Santos was usually mild, but tonight, the air bit at Michael’s nose and ears. He zipped his hoodie all the way up and pulled his hood over his head. He was already wearing a beanie, but it didn’t cover his ears fully. He headed for the nearby all night diner. He couldn’t fucking believe Geoff wanted to meet in a _Denny’s,_ but Gavin, who had relayed the meetup information to Michael, had said Geoff thought of Denny’s as one of the safest places to meet. Geoff had apparently said that “you could commit a murder in a fucking Denny’s and the employees will just step over the body to serve you more shitty coffee.” So… Denny’s then. At least Geoff didn’t want to meet anywhere fancy. Michael couldn’t afford much.

The sign of the restaurant flickered and there was graffiti all over the walls. There were hardly any local businesses that weren’t a little rough around the edges. People in this city were always vandalizing. Business owners just stopped paying for nonessential repairs after a certain point. Michael pushed open the door and entered. The hostess was drumming her fingers against the podium and chewing gum. Michael could see what Geoff had meant about this place. It was mostly dead and all the staff looked like they’d rather be anywhere else but here.

Michael cleared his throat to get the hostess’s attention. She looked up at him and tried to manage a smile but it was clear she’d rather not deal with a customer. “Welcome to Denny’s. Let me show you to your seat.” She grabbed a menu but Michael didn’t follow her.

“Actually, I’m here to meet someone.” She frowned and then went back to her podium. She ran her finger down a piece of paper Michael couldn’t read from here.

“Are you Michael Jones?” Michael swallowed dryly, a little nervous about meeting Geoff and a lot nervous about this hostess knowing his full name. What if she called the police? But then, if she was going to do that, she probably would have by now.

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“Mr. Grif is right this way.” Grif? Michael followed the hostess, confused, before it dawned on him that Geoff couldn’t exactly walk into an establishment and tell them his name was Geoff Ramsey. Even if this hostess couldn’t care less about her job, anyone with any sense would call the police. Michael wondered what that said about him.

They came to a stop at a booth, occupied only by one man. He had short dark hair, an impressive mustache, and tattoos all over his arms. That was Geoff Ramsey all right. Michael’s heart was beating rapidly against his ribcage. Geoff looked up and smiled. It disarmed Michael, who was expecting Geoff to be kind of a gruff asshole.

“Michael Jones?” Again, Michael was surprised. Geoff’s voice wasn’t high, but it was higher than Michael expected. Michael nodded and Geoff stuck out his hand for Michael to shake. Michael obliged and noted that Geoff’s hand was rough and calloused. The hostess dropped the menu on the table and walked away. Geoff gestured for Michael to sit down and Michael did so. “You mute, kid?” Geoff’s grin widened and there was a teasing note in his voice. “Funny, Gavin claimed you were basically a banshee.” Michael scowled, taking exception to both being referred to as a kid, and as a banshee.

“Gavin’s an asshole,” he said, without thinking about it. Shit, didn’t Gavin say Geoff was overprotective of his gang? Michael winced internally. He didn’t want to die a slow and painful death, but that was where he was headed with his mouth. To Michael’s immense relief and surprise, however, Geoff laughed heartily.

“That he is. Not sure how he convinces so many people that he’s an innocent little kitten. Maybe they get distracted by all that shiny jewelry he wears. But anyway, we’re not here to talk about what a dick Gavin is. We’re here to talk about you, and the possibility of you joining us. So, tell me, Michael, why do you want to be a part of our little group?” Michael shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, actually… I’m not sure I do. Not just yet, anyway. I mean, I don’t even know what joining would entail.” Geoff raised an eyebrow.

“Bullshit.” Michael blinked, taken aback.

“What?”

“Nobody comes out to meet someone like _me_ on a whim. You’ve already made your decision. You want to join. That’s why you’re here. So, let’s not beat around the bush. Why do you want to join?” Michael’s heart, which had briefly calmed, was once again doing jumping jacks in his chest. Geoff was… right. Fuck, he was _right._ Michael had risked another beating from his father to sneak out to a shitty restaurant in the middle of the night to meet with the most dangerous man in the city of Los Santos. There was nothing wishy washy about that. Michael wanted to do this. He looked down at the table. There was expletives and simple pictures carved crudely into the wood. He traced a heart with a finger.

“I… I’m tired of being fucking pushed around all the time. I’m tired of… getting hurt. If there’s gotta be violence in my life,” Michael looked up at Geoff, eyes burning with a ferocity Michael didn’t feel very often. It wasn’t primal anger, it was determination. “I want to be the one causing the pain, not the other way around.” Geoff was silent for a while before pushing Michael’s menu closer to him.

“Kid, you look like you haven’t eaten in a month. Order something with meat. Don’t worry about the cost. I’ve got plenty of cash.” Michael wasn’t sure what to make of it. He had expected any number of responses, but that wasn’t one of them. Still, he picked up the menu and opened it. Despite Geoff’s friendliness, there was a hint of danger in his voice. Something that told Michael he better listen or he’d regret it. “Your parents need to feed you up.” Geoff was eyeing him critically and Michael suddenly felt very exposed. His fingers trembled slightly. Michael didn’t want to talk about his parents, but Geoff didn’t seem like he was about to drop the subject. “Where’d you get that fat lip, hm?” Geoff’s voice was gentler, but Michael was still tempted to tell him it was none of his fucking business. For once, Michael managed to bite his tongue. He just shrugged in response. “Alright,” Geoff said, and Michael knew. He knew that Geoff _knew._ About his shitty parents and his shitty life and Michael hated himself and hated Geoff for getting it out of Michael without Michael having to say a word. Geoff called for the waiter and Michael and Geoff both ordered something with meat in it. Then there was silence for a long time.

When their food came, Geoff finally spoke again. “So, you’re an arsonist.” Michael tensed, nearly choking on his leathery steak. His eyes darted around, to see if anyone was in earshot. Geoff noticed and chuckled. “Relax. There’s no one here that gives a shit, trust me.” Michael swallowed his food painfully.

“If you say so…” he mumbled.

“I do. Anyway, you’re an arsonist.” Regardless of what Geoff said, Michael wished Geoff would stop saying that out loud in public. “So, that actually solves a bit of a mystery for us. We’re used to being the ones causing most of the mayhem around here, you know. So, when buildings started going up in smoke, we started to wonder. Guess Gavin found the culprit. Gotta say, I’m glad to know it was some punk kid and not an actual threat.” Geoff winked playfully, grinning wide at Michael’s scowl. “You’re a bit of a spitfire yourself, I can tell. We could use someone like you.” Michael’s breath caught in his throat. Was Geoff going to actually let him join? “Ah, what the heck, I like you kid. If you complete your initiation, you can be part of the team.” Michael couldn’t stop from smiling, which felt weird. His face wasn’t used to the expression.

“What do I have to do?” Geoff’s smile faltered for a moment and Michael was suddenly nervous all over again.

“Kill your old man.” It was like Michael’s heart finally gave up and stopped beating altogether. Kill his dad…? That was a fucked up thing to ask of someone but Michael knew why Geoff asked. Geoff knew who busted Michael’s lip. Geoff knew Michael hated his father. Probably knew it when Michael told Geoff why he wanted to join the Fakes. And Geoff needed to know Michael was committed enough to kill. Being in a gang meant being a murderer. Geoff didn’t seem to like the type to waste time. Might as well get it over with. Become a killer now and deal with the repercussions as soon as possible because when the Fakes really needed you to pull the trigger, you better not fucking hesitate. “I understand if it’s too much to ask. I won’t kill you over this meeting. You can go home and forget this ever happened, and none of us will ever bother you.” Michael steeled himself. 

”I’ll do it.” If Geoff was shocked by this, he didn’t show it. He pulled out a little slip of paper and pushed it towards Michael.

“This is my number. Call me when it’s done. Kill him in your house. Don’t leave after you’re done. I’ll come pick you up.” Michael nodded and put the paper in his pocket. “Make sure to pack up everything you want to bring before you do it.” Geoff pulled out a wad of bills and threw them on the table. “You can finish my food if you want.” He walked away, leaving Michael with his thoughts.


	6. Flare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning. This chapter includes murder described in graphic detail.

Michael ran all the way home. The burning in his muscles and lungs helped him take his mind off of what he had to do. Now he was standing in front of their trailer, shaking and panting. He… was he really going to do this? Could he do it? His father was bigger and stronger than him and Michael didn’t have a gun. He wished he had help or at least someone there for moral support. Michael wasn’t usually the type to want other people around but this… this was too big for just him. He didn’t exactly have any friends, though… Swallowing thickly, he pulled out his phone.

  


[Michael]: Gavin?

  


There was no response. Michael swore under his breath after a few minutes passed. He decided to try one more time.

  


[Michael]: Gav, you there?

  


Michael wasn’t sure what compelled him to give Gavin a nickname, but it felt right in the moment. After a minute of hoping, Michael’s phone vibrated.

  


[Gold Idiot]: Hey, buddy. You okay?

[Michael]: No, not really, I think.

[Gold Idiot]: Geoff gave you a hard first kill.

  


Michael felt his breath hitch. So Gavin already knew.

  


[Gold Idiot]: But I believe in you, mate. Go fuck your dad up. He’s an asshole, right? He must be or Geoff wouldn’t have told you to off him.

  


Michael snorted. What kind of person rooted for murder like it was a sporting event? Gavin didn’t seem the type but he was a Fake. They were all sociopaths, according to the news.

  


[Michael]: I don’t think I can do this alone, Gavin. I need help.

[Gold Idiot]: :(

[Michael]: What’s that supposed to mean?

[Gold Idiot]: This is _your_ initiation, Michael. I can’t help you. You gotta kill him yourself.

  


Fuck. This sucked. Michael sat on the steps leading up to the trailer door.

  


[Michael]: Well, can you at least tell me how to do it? I don’t have a gun and I don’t really think I’m strong enough to choke him to death. Especially because Mom will be trying to help him.

[Gold Idiot]: Shit, that’s a tough one, mate. Do you think you’ll have to kill your mum, too?

[Michael]: I don’t know, maybe.

[Gold Idiot]: That’s heavy. Oh! That’s an idea! Use something heavy. Bash their heads in and whatnot.

  


Michael grimaced, nose wrinkling in disgust at the thought. How could Gavin be so peppy about this?

  


[Michael]: You’re awfully casual about all this.

[Gold Idiot]: We all had to kill people to join. Except for Ryan, and that’s only because he had already killed like a hundred people before Geoff approached him.

[Michael]: Who’d you kill?

[Gold Idiot]: Just some guy. Not important. I’ll tell you later if you really care.

[Michael]: Okay. I don’t know if we have anything heavy enough to take him out in one blow. At least nothing I could lift. He’s pretty strong, too. He could probably just take the thing from me.

[Gold Idiot]: Are you faster?

[Michael]: Yeah.

[Gold Idiot]: Do you have a baseball bat? A metal one, preferably?

[Michael]: Yeah.

[Gold Idiot]: Use your speed to your advantage. Don’t try to brute force him. Just get in a lot of rapid blows. Eventually he’ll go down. You might have to do in your mum, though, if she kicks up a fuss.

  


Michael felt a knot form in his stomach. Yeah, that would work. He was… maybe not so surprisingly okay with this. He hated his parents, they hated him. He was shocked they didn’t sleep with one eye open, just in case he did exactly this.

  


[Michael]: Okay. Thanks, Gav.

[Gold Idiot]: Good luck. I’ll talk to you more when you get here.

[Michael]: Okay. Bye.

  


Michael pocketed his phone and stood up. He figured he’d just do it now. Why beat around the bush? He looked around before he opened the door. Everyone was going to hear this. It was lucky that the Jones trailer was always filled with shouting and screaming and sounds of distress. No one ever bothered to call the cops. Michael silently entered his trailer and crept into his bedroom. Luckily, no one was awake.

He set to packing up his bags, trying to keep it light. He didn’t have much as it was, anyway. He stood up once he was finished and picked up the bat next to his bed. His pulse quickened. He was a little surprised at himself for not doing this before. He had to pace around his room for a moment, psyching himself up before he made his way to his parents’ bedroom. They had fallen asleep with the tv on and the laughter of a live studio audience covered up his footsteps as he moved to stand next to the bed. His father looked much less threatening when he was asleep. He inhaled shakily, almost afraid his pounding heartbeat would be loud enough to wake his parents. Michael raised the baseball bat and after a moment’s hesitation, brought it crashing down on his father’s skull. There was a loud crack and Michael felt something warm and wet hit his face. Instantly, the household was in an uproar. His father fell out of bed, howling. His mother sat up and was screaming. Michael was yelling, too. Telling them to shut up, telling them how much he hated him. It was like he had no control anymore. His arms moved of their own accord, bringing the bat down again and again, his legs dodged his father’s attempts to grab them without Michael even registering it, words were ripped from his throat against Michael’s consent. It was raw, it was primal, it was _cathartic._

Then his mother was on his back, hitting him, and trying to grab the bat. He felt sharp, bright pain in his shoulder and side. He threw her off and swung the bat toward her. It connected with her ribs. She shrieked and dropped to her knees. “You _bastard,_ ” she hissed, “We bring you into this world, we raised you, fed you, gave you shelter and the clothes on your back and _this_ is how you repay us?” Michael growled, low and guttural.

“Fuck you. Fuck you, you didn’t do shit for me. I had to steal to survive. I had to hide from you to survive. I’m paying you exactly what you deserve.” He swung the bat at her head and with a sickening noise, it connected and his mother was laying on the floor, blood pooling under her head. There was suddenly silence. All Michael could hear was the rushing of his own blood in his ears. He didn’t know if his parents were dead. They could just be knocked out. That wasn’t good enough. Michael had to make sure. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he was feeling a lot more pain than he really should be, but he ignored that for now.

Michael ran to grab a knife from the kitchen and came back to his parents room. It already smelled overwhelmingly of blood, but Michael doubted he smelled any better. He was covered in the stuff. His shirt was soaked through with it and he had to wonder where it all came from. There hadn’t been that much blood spray, he thought. He knelt by his parents and began to make absolute sure they were dead. It was a disgusting job. He lost count of how many times he stabbed them. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” he repeated in a mantra.

Eventually he stopped. His arms were tired. _He_ was tired. Too tired. That’s when he remembered the pain in his side and shoulder. He touched where it hurt gingerly and hissed in pain and shock. The blood soaking his shirt was his own. His mother had fucking _stabbed_ him. He looked towards her hands, feeling sick. He saw the glint of the bloodied hunting knife lying next to her. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fucking cunt. God damn it. He pulled out his phone with shaky, bloody hands. He couldn’t call 911. He’d go to jail forever. He reached into his pocket once more and pulled out Geoff’s number. Squinting through the blood smears, he made out the numbers and dialed. After two rings, Geoff answered.

“Hello?”

“G-Geoff? It’s Michael. It’s d-done.” There was a beat of silence.

“You alright, kid? You’re not sounding so hot.” Michael grit his teeth against the pain. Everything was looking a little fuzzy.

“I’m… she… h-hurt. F-fuck. Th-they’re dead. Just g-get here.” He realized he wasn’t making much sense but it was getting hard to collect his thoughts. “B-bleeding,” he mumbled. He heard Geoff swear.

“Okay, just hold on, kid. I’m coming.”

“H-hurry.” Michael heard the line go dead and he slipped into unconsciousness.


	7. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea of everyone in the FAHC having a codename. Also, bonus points for anyone who can figure out who's saying what in the beginning dialogue here.

“How much blood did he lose?”

“Dunno. A lot. Kid was sitting in a pool of it but I don’t know what was his and what was his parents.”

“Fuck. What a mess. You stitched him up pretty good, though, Rye-Bread.”

“He’s still out, though. Maybe we _should_ take him to the hospital.”

“That would be a lot of hassle for some kid we just met.”

“He’s one of us now, though.” There was a myriad of voices surrounding Michael. He felt cold, extremely cold, and his head was pounding. He groaned and the voices died immediately. With a lot of effort, he managed to pull himself up into a sitting position. He made to rub his eyes and was hit with an overwhelming smell of copper. Oh god, he was going to puke. He opened his eyes slowly and tensed when he saw several pairs of eyes staring at him. He wanted to run, but his body wasn’t cooperating. Besides, some of these faces were familiar. Michael recognized Geoff, who was looking grim, and Gavin, who was grinning just as stupidly as he was the night Michael had met him. Then there was young man wearing a purple hoodie and a scowl, a large man in a Hawaiian shirt with a very full beard, and another man with a ponytail and terrifying face paint. Michael shivered. These must be the Fakes. Michael knew there were more members. Just a few. He wondered where they were.

“Oooh, Michael! You’re alive!” Gavin squealed, delighted, and threw his arms around Michael who yelped in pain.

“Ow! Fuck, Gavin!” Gavin pulled away, looking sheepish. The others were rolling their eyes.

“Oops, my bad.” Michael raised his hands to rub his eyes again, only to realize they were encrusted with dry blood. He made a face and dropped his hands. Geoff clapped Michael on his uninjured shoulder.

“How you feeling, Michael? We were worried there for a moment.” Michael shrugged and tried to shake the fog out of his head, but only succeeded in making his headache worse.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” Michael said, hoarse. Geoff's frown deepened.

“Well, you look like it, too. But I’m sure it’s nothing a shower, a meal, and some rest won’t fix. Are you up to standing?” Michael wasn’t sure but he wasn’t about to look weak in front of the Fakes. That seemed both dangerous _and_ embarrassing. He swung his legs onto the floor. He realized now he had been laying on a couch with quite a lot of suspiciously dark stains. Michael wondered if they were all his. He didn’t think they were and he tried not to shudder at the thought. Michael grit his teeth as he shakily got to his feet. He swayed, and felt a steadying hand on his back. He wasn’t sure who it was but it withdrew once it seemed like he wasn’t going to fall over. Geoff’s dark expression lightened considerably once Michael was upright. “Well, Michael, welcome to the team. Quite a dramatic entrance you made. Let me introduce you to everyone.” Michael was feeling shell-shocked and numb, but he did his best to pay attention. Geoff gestured to Gavin. “You already know this idiot.” Gavin pretended to be flattered, fluttering his eyelashes and giggling stupidly. Michael noticed he was wearing gold nail polish.

“Oh, Geoff, you flatterer, you.” Geoff rolled his eyes and jabbed his finger at the man with the facepaint.

“This is Ryan, but you probably know him better by his codename: the Vagabond.” Michael felt his heart stutter. He hadn’t recognized the Vagabond without his skull mask. If there was anyone people were more afraid of than Geoff Ramsey, it was the Vagabond. Michael wondered what was with the face paint. Did the Vagabond… Ryan, ever have his face uncovered? Ryan was staring at Michael and Michael shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“Hey,” Michael said, for the lack of anything else to say. Ryan grinned, and Michael wasn’t sure if it was because of the strange, skull-like face paint, but it looked an awful lot like a leer. Then Ryan spoke.

“Hey, kid.” Did everyone have to call him kid? “I like your style. Bludgeoning your parents to death and then stabbing them forty times each? I can appreciate that level of brutality.” Michael was taken aback by the… very unsettling compliment, but he still felt pride. _The_ Vagabond was _complimenting_ him. Michael smiled, feeling more at ease, despite the dirty looks the bearded man was shooting at Ryan.

“Thanks, man.” Geoff carried on with his introductions, as if nothing had happened. He nodded his head at the man in the purple hoodie.

“Ray, AKA Rosy Cheeks.” Ray flipped Geoff off.

“It’s actually Rican Rose, but fuck you.” Geoff snorted.

“Ah, right. I always get that wrong for some reason. Anyway, Ray’s our sharpshooter. You know, the one with the pink gun.” Ray rolled his eyes. Michael tried not to picture the gruesome images he had seen on live news of said “pink gun” picking people off in crowds.

“His name is Tuxedo Mask and I’ll thank you to refer to him as such.” This was not how Michael pictured the Fakes. Suddenly Gavin was making a lot more sense. Geoff turned to the last unnamed person, ignoring Ray.

“Jack Patillo. My right hand man. Codename: Mom.” Michael’s lips twitched upwards but he did his best not to laugh as Jack flushed.

“I wish you would stop telling new recruits that.”

“Well, it’s true. There’s other Fakes, than who’s here, but you’ll have to wait to meet them, as they’re all off on missions right now. And finally, me, of course. My codename was _supposed_ to be Boss but everyone has taken to calling me Tattoos because they have no creativity.”

“Can it, Tattoos.” Jack said and Michael was wondering if there was a single normal person in this gang. Well, normal relative to gangs, anyway. Wasn’t there supposed to be people talking in heavy slang with backwards caps and sagging pants? Those were the type of people that were in gangs, right? Except Michael wasn’t like that, either. These people were weird, but, somehow, that made them seem much more welcoming. Michael was expecting to be terrified but no one seemed very scary. Well, Ryan did, but other than that… “If you’re done with your introductions, can we actually _feed_ the kid now? He’s practically skin and bone and he just lost like, a gallon of blood. He needs red meat, Geoff. And orange juice. And… well, I’ll look up other things you should eat after losing blood.” Michael was suddenly painfully aware of why Jack’s codename was mom as Michael was ushered into the kitchen, Jack fussing over him the whole way. Gavin followed closely behind. Michael could hear him snickering. Jack told Michael to sit at the table and Gavin sat across from Michael, his near ever present wide grin plastered on his face. Michael felt Gavin nudge his leg with his foot.

“Sooo, what do you think?” Michael made sure everyone else was out of earshot before he answered in a low voice.

“It’s not what I expected but… it’s… nicer? I guess… I’m not used to people giving a shit about me, especially not strangers.” Gavin nodded, and his goofy grin was gone all of the sudden, replaced by a more serious expression.

“You’ll come to think of this place as home, and us as family, soon. Better than the one you had. We’re all here 'cus trying to be upstanding citizens in normal society just led to misery. Also, because we’re a little bit crazy, but you know. Better crazy than sad, I think. Anyway, you’re gonna love it here, I know it.” Michael was usually skeptical of the possibility of him ever being happy, but with his parents dead, and everyone around him so friendly, Michael found it hard to doubt Gavin. Still, he wasn’t feeling his best at the moment.

“I hope so. I’m just… I can’t believe I killed my parents. I don’t miss them, but I mean… I killed my parents.” Gavin looked thoughtful for a moment. It was an odd look on him.

“You’ll get used to the idea of being a murderer. We all did. You might even find yourself enjoying it.” Michael wasn’t sure what to say to that. There was a part of him that already enjoyed it. Killing his parents hadn’t been fun but it had been surprisingly easy and it was so good to get revenge, so good that they were finally gone. Michael almost wished he could have dragged it out longer. He felt a nudge on his leg again and he looked up from where he had been staring at the table, to look at Gavin. “Which one of them stabbed you, anyway?”

“My mom.” Gavin snorted.

“What a bitch. What kind of mother stabs their own son?” Michael supposed it was the kind that were being murdered by said son, but instead of saying that, he just smiled.

“A cunty one.” Gavin laughed. Jack set a plate of food in front of Michael and ruffled his blood soaked hair. Michael didn’t feel annoyed, like he usually would have been at the invasion of personal space. Gavin nudged his leg under the table again, a mischievous look in his eyes. Michael nudged Gavin back with his own foot before beginning to eat. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but Michael already felt like he was home.


	8. Fear

Michael’s breath came out in little puffs, intermingling with Gavin’s own clouds. They were shivering as they walked along a cracked side street, grass poking out of the sidewalk and potholes. “So,” Michael started, trying to keep his teeth from chattering, “why are we going to bumfuck nowhere at fuck you o’clock in the morning?” Gavin laughed, condensation issuing from his mouth in short bursts.

“‘Cus Geoff told us to.” Gavin shrugged, and that was it. It had been a week since Michael joined the Fakes. The police were looking for him, and Michael was finding himself a nice little niche among the ranks of the gang. Now he was on his first official mission. Which apparently was: go to the shittiest part of town during the coldest time of day.

“Why couldn’t Geoff have told us to set something on fire? I’m good at that,” Michael grumbled.

“Aw, if you’re good, Mikey, I’ll let ya set a nice, lil’ abandoned building on fire.” Gavin slung his arm around Michael’s shoulders. Michael scowled and shrugged Gavin’s arm off.

“Don’t call me Mikey.” Gavin just chuckled. Nothing ever seemed to bother him.

“C’mon, cheer up, Michael. We’ll get some coffee on the way back.” The lightened Michael’s mood a little bit.

“So, what exactly are we supposed to do when we get to this place?”

“Geoff said that we needed to look for evidence of activity.” Michael furrowed his eyebrows.

“Just… ‘activity’? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? What kind of activity? Gang activity? A kids activity center? Fucking paranormal activity?!” Gavin snickered, and shrugged. “Great,” Michael huffed. “Is Geoff always this vague?”

“Sometimes he is, when he’s being cautious.”

“What, like he doesn’t trust you guys?”

“I think you mean ‘us’ and of course he does. He just doesn’t want us making any rash decisions or seeing things in a biased way. He likes to get an unopinionated view of things sometimes. I mean, we can be a pretty impulsive bunch. ‘Specially you.”

“Fuck you. So are we close yet?” Gavin pulled out his phone to look at the map.

“Yeah, not too far now.”

  


Their arrival at the crumbling building surrounded by crumbling buildings was even more lackluster than the journey there. There was nothing to suggest anything out of the ordinary. Gavin busted out a window, despite, as Michael pointed out, there being several windows already broken.

“But it’s more fun this way, Michael.” Michael sighed and took off his sweater to lay it over the broken glass in the windowsill. Gavin beamed at him. “What a gentleman.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Michael pushed Gavin through the window and heard a satisfying yelp as he tumbled to the floor. Michael jumped the window, landing on his feet next to Gavin’s prone body. He removed his sweatshirt from the windowsill and shook out the glass before donning it.

“Ow, Michael, whyyy?” Michael hauled Gavin to his feet.

“Because you deserve it on a regular basis. So… does this place look, er… active?” Gavin and Michael both looked around. There were beer bottles strewn about the floor and a couch against one of the walls.

“Lil’ bit, yeah.” Michael picked up one of the beer bottles, inspecting it more closely, though it didn’t really give him much information. He dropped it and smirked when it smashed against the concrete floor.

“Well, let’s investigate further then. You take the left hall, I’ll take the right.” Gavin nodded and they went their separate ways. There were plenty of signs that people were spending time here, but Michael had no idea why it would interest Geoff. Food wrappers here, some blankets there. The place was cleanish. Livable. But it looked like whoever hung out here didn’t stay permanently. It was freezing cold, for one. In order to heat the place up, they would have to haul a generator and a space heater in here. For another, there were no real beds to speak of. Michael took a mental note of it all but he doubted it would be useful.

“Hey, Michael! Come look at this!” Gavin’s sudden shout made Michael jump and he was glad no one was around to see it. He jogged to Gavin’s location and then stopped dead, jaw dropped, when he saw what Gavin was shouting about. Blood everywhere, most of old and dried. It wasn’t just smeared or splattered randomly. It had been used to paint Satanic symbols on the walls. Black candles surrounded a bloody baphomet painted on the floor.

“Wow… someone was watching too many B movies about Satanists. This is stupidly cliche.” Gavin grabbed Michael’s arm suddenly.

“Michael, I don’t like it.” Gavin’s voice had lost it’s chipper edge and was trembling slightly. Michael snorted.

“Don’t be a baby, Gavin. It’s probably just some teenagers fucking around. Hit up a blood bank or killed a pig or something stupid.” Gavin’s grip on Michael’s arm grew tighter.

“No, this is creepy. Let’s go, Michael. I don’t want to be here anymore.” Michael was surprised. This was a rather strong reaction from a man who usually seemed bothered by nothing. Normally, Michael’s first reaction to inconvenience would be anger, but instead, he found himself feeling concern. It may have had something to do with the fact that Gavin was now repeatedly saying Michael’s name in some sort of terrified mantra, as if he thought Michael would be able to banish anything Gavin was afraid of. Michael pulled his arm out of Gavin’s grip with considerable difficulty. Gavin whined, but relaxed a little when Michael wrapped his arm around Gavin’s shoulders.

“Alright, Gav. Let’s go. There’s not much more to see here anyway.” Gavin nodded and Michael struggled to keep by his side as Gavin rushed down the hall. “Slow down, buddy. You’re okay. There’s no one here right now.” Gavin nodded, swallowing visibly, and seemed to have to force himself to walk at a more reasonable pace. Michael helped him out of the window they had come in through before following him out while Gavin urged him along (“Michael, Michael, Michael, hurry, please, Michael.”) It was all very strange, but Michael didn’t question it and they had a silent walk back to headquarters, Gavin clinging to Michael’s arm the entire time.

  


Michael extracted his appendage from Gavin’s vice-like grip before they actually entered HQ. He didn’t want people getting the wrong idea. Gavin didn’t seem to mind. He just lurched towards his bedroom, looking considerably pale. “You’re back.” Michael’s heart nearly jumped in his throat and he spun around to face Geoff. Geoff put up his hands in mock defense. “Woah. You two look like you’ve seen a ghost. Especially Gavin. What happened?” Michael rubbed the back of his head, a bit embarrassed.

“Nothing really happened. We just… found some beer bottles and some creepy Satanic shit written in blood and… well…” Michael trailed off. He didn’t want to throw Gavin under the bus here and get him in trouble for bailing. Geoff looked surprised at the report but then he sighed.

“Let me guess. Gavin flipped his shit?” Michael nodded, relieved that Geoff was acting like this was normal, and didn’t seem angry. Geoff ran his fingers through his short hair. “Aw, hell. Gavin doesn’t do well with this kind of thing. Paranormal stuff. I guess he buys into it and it really freaks him out. Well, your info was good, anyway. I have some things to think about. Check on Gavin for me, would you?”

“Got it,” Michael said and headed for Gavin’s room. There were a lot of spare rooms in HQ. It seemed to be something of a group home for lost and waywardly Fakes who didn’t have places of their own. Michael had been given his own room, which was bigger than the entire trailer Michael grew up in. Michael had furnished and decorated it according to his own tastes. He had never seen the inside of the other members’ rooms before, though. Michael pushed Gavin’s bedroom door open, justifying not knocking by reasoning that the door had been left ajar.

The first thing Michael noticed was the sheer amount of gold, both in color and the metal itself. Golden walls, golden carpet, golden statues, and golden trinkets. Gavin’s bed had black sheets with golden accents. It was over the top. It was horrendous. It was… very Gavin. Speaking of Gavin, he was laying in the fetal position on his bed, facing away from Michael. “Uh… Gav?” He saw Gavin tense. “It’s Michael.”

“I know who it is, you donut.” Michael relaxed, and smiled slightly.

“Donuts are delicious, that was a compliment.” Gavin turned to face Michael. He was still looking pale and strained. Michael’s smile left as easily as it had come. “How you holding up, Gavvy?”

“I’m fine… thought you came here to make fun of me.” Michael snorted.

“C’mon, I’m not that much of an asshole. We all have shit we’re freaked out about. Yours just happens to be incredibly lame.” Michael teased and saw with some relief, a smile playing on Gavin’s lips.

“C’mere,” Gavin mumbled. Michael approached the bed and barely stifled a startled shout when Gavin yanked him down on it, so that they were lying next to each other. Gavin wrapped his arms around Michael’s torso and buried his face in Michael’s chest.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Michael demanded, a little on edge now.

“Relax. Just for a little bit? Please? It just… makes me feel better to be close to someone.” Michael sighed heavily.

“Fine. You have fifteen minutes, and not a second longer.” Gavin made a celebratory noise and squeezed Michael tighter. Michael threw an arm around Gavin. That was how they ended up falling asleep, all tangled up in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I finished this chapter last night but fell asleep editing it. I was really trying to at least update once a day. Oh well.


	9. Manipulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a warning, things get a little psychoteeth in this chapter. Just a little.

Michael woke up with the feeling of something warm beneath him and something else stroking his hair. He made a contented noise and pushed his face into the warm thing. Wait. His mind caught up to him and he flung himself out of bed, squawking in a _very dignified manner, thank you very much._ “Gavin, what the hell?!” Michael spluttered, looking up at a bemused Gavin from where Michael was sprawled on the floor.

“What?” Michael scowled.

“You know ‘wot,’” Michael said, imitating Gavin’s accent. “You were cuddling me and stroking my hair like a _creep.”_ Gavin snorted at that.

“You didn’t seem to mind it when you woke up. What’s wrong with a little cuddling and whatnot? Felt nice, didn’t it? I cuddle lots of people. You don’t have to read so much into it.” Michael sat up, huffing, and crossed his arms like a stubborn child. How could Gavin not see it was _weird?_ A total invasion of personal space. Just because it felt good didn’t mean anything. There was just… some lines you didn’t cross. “Plus,” Gavin added, pulling Michael from his thoughts, “your hair is fun to play with. All curly. I like it.” Michael turned bright red and pulled his beanie out of his pants pocket, jamming it on his head.

“Shut up,” Michael grumbled, looking away from Gavin. Which turned out to be a mistake because suddenly Michael was being hauled to his feet before he had even realized Gavin had moved. Michael made another completely dignified noise, which made Gavin snicker. “Dude, personal bubble.” Gavin just rolled his eyes.

“Everyone else is busy with stuff. You slept for a while. Let’s go do something fun.” Michael gave Gavin a wary look.

“Like what?”

“Oh, don’t look so suspicious. I was just thinking we’d get some bevs and you can set something on fire and we’ll be drunk and it’ll be nice.” That did sound nice, except…

“I don’t have any money.” For some reason, Gavin found this funny. He chuckled and patted Michael on the shoulder. Michael was beginning to think he was going to have to get used to Gavin in his space.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll show you something neat.”

  


Watching Gavin work was a thing of beauty. The way he smiled at their waitress just right, dropping little comments that made her whole face light up, making little jokes that caused her to laugh a little too hard. Michael and Gavin were thoroughly drunk by the time the astoundingly large check came. Michael watched as Gavin pretended to pat himself down in increasing horror in search of his wallet (which he had intentionally left at home). “Someone must’ve stolen it. Oh no, what am I going to do?” Gavin’s eyes were wide and Michael swore he saw a hint of tears. Who the hell was this good at acting when they were this drunk? The waitress patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, sugar. It’s on the house tonight.” She smiled brightly at him.

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that. It’s so much.” She shook her head.

“It’s nothing, dear. The crime in this city is out of control, and you’re such a sweet thing. You and your friend don’t have to be punished for something some petty thief did. Just make sure to come back soon, alright?” Michael almost felt sorry for playing her, but then she wrote something down on their check and pushed it towards Gavin, looking at him pointedly, and all of Michael’s limited empathy drained away. He was pretty sure she just gave him her number and for some reason, this made Michael feel sour.

“Thank you so much, Melody.” Gavin said, putting a little emphasis on the waitress’s name while getting out of his booth. Michael followed, swaying a bit. “Don’t worry. We’ll definitely be back.” Gavin put his arm around Michael’s shoulders and Michael found that he didn’t mind that much. He needed something to keep him steady, anyway. They stumbled out of the bar and Michael burst out laughing once they were a little ways away.

“Dude, that was _awesome._ I can’t believe you pulled that off!” Liquor had loosened Michael’s tongue, making him friendlier than he’d normally be. Gavin beamed at him.

“I told you. You didn’t believe me. You owe me twenty quid.”

“No way. Now that I know you can get everything for free, I’m never giving you money. Besides, I don’t have twenty quid. I don’t even know what a quid _is.”_

“Ya know, like a… like a dollar. Ah, my American always gets worse when I’m drunk. But look!” Gavin pulled out the receipt from the bar. “I even scored her number!” Michael huffed.

“You’re not going to actually call her, are you?”

“Why not? She was kind of cute. Might be fun for a night.”

Michael was pouting before he even registered the decision to do so.

“She’s dumb. She didn’t get that you were playing her.”

 _“Nobody_ gets when I’m playing them. Well, I mean some people do. Like the crew.” Gavin cocked his head. “I mean, you probably would, too. You’re one of us.” Michael glowed briefly before getting back to the subject at hand.

“Exactly! So you shouldn’t just… like, you should have higher standards. Be with smarter people.” Michael’s confidence faded as he spoke, so he was mumbling towards the end of his sentence. Gavin laughed softly.

“You mean, like you?” Michael turned red.

“What?” Michael suddenly found himself being pushed gently against the nearest wall. His breath hitched as Gavin pinned him, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. “G-Gav?”

“It’s just that you sound a little jealous, Mikey.” Gavin’s hands were on his waist and Michael couldn’t suppress a shiver as Gavin’s thumbs traced circles just under Michael’s t-shirt.

“I’m not jealous! Don’t call me Mikey.” Gavin snorted in amusement and his face was getting closer and Michael was feeling really, really conflicted about all this.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. Lots of people want me. I’m kind of irresistible.” At this, Michael snapped out of his stupor and pushed Gavin away.

“Shut up, you smug prick.” Gavin laughed, apparently unfazed by this rejection.

“C’mon. You wanted to light a fire, right?” In Michael’s drunken state, the previous weirdness had already been forgotten.

“Hell yeah.” He pulled out his lighter and flicked it on.

“Not _here_. Too crowded.” Michael pouted but put his lighter back. Gavin took Michael by the hand. Michael tried to pull away but Gavin held tight. “I’ll show you where.” Gavin was suddenly pulling Michael down an alley and through some side streets. Once they reached a shitty neighborhood in the less populated part of town, they came to a stop. “Pick any house.” Gavin said, close to Michael’s ear, and Michael felt a shiver run through him. A house? Actual buildings people lived in? Might be home right now, not suspecting a thing…? Gavin seemed to notice Michael’s hesitation. “Have you never done a house before.” Michael shook his head. “Well, if you don’t want to, we could--”

“No. No, I want to.” Michael pulled out the can of kerosene he almost always had on him and scanned the street.

“Atta boy,” Gavin said. Gavin’s approval only made Michael more excited. He wanted to go big, impress Gavin. He spotted a house that was definitely currently occupied. The lights were on, a car in the driveway. He walked between it and the house next to it, Gavin close behind him. “Oh, fuck, Michael. You’re cruel.” Gavin’s voice held a hint of lust in it. Not the kind of fake crooning Gavin used with the waitress, but a shaky, breathlessness that made Michael smirk. Michael made sure they were alone and hadn’t been noticed before squirting accelerant all over the side of the house. He hoped they didn’t have any pets. He took out his lighter and held it up to the house’s siding until the accelerant caught fire. Then Gavin was tugging him back behind the house and up a large, lightly wooded hill. “This is why I took you here. Perfect viewpoint without having to be too close to the scene of the crime.” Once they were at the top, Michael and Gavin turned around to look down at the house, which was now really burning. Michael could hear screams and see the occupants fleeing. A man and a woman.

“Up here, it’s kind of like holding a microscope over a couple of ants.” Gavin chuckled.

“That’s kind of fucking hot, that you think like that.” Before Michael could ask what Gavin meant, Gavin’s mouth was on Michael’s. It warm and wet and Michael didn’t even think of pushing Gavin away. He tangled his hands in Gavin’s shirt, pulling him closer. Eventually, his sluggish, drunk brain caught up with him and he realized this might actually be really bad. Then Gavin’s tongue was in his mouth and Michael groaned softly. Wait, no, no, this can’t happen. He wasn’t gay. That would be bad, if he was gay. That had been beaten into him early on. Michael pulled away. “Gavvy.” It came out as a slight, pleading whine. “D-don’t.” Gavin pulled off Michael’s beanie and ran his fingers through Michael’s hair.

“Relax, boi, I’m just trying to make you feel good. You can write it off as drunken mistake later.” Michael barely had time to register that maybe Gavin was a little more sober than he was when Gavin pressed his mouth to Michael’s again and Michael didn’t have the resolve to resist anymore. His hips pressed into Gavin’s and they tumbled to the leaf-covered ground, kissing like they were trying devour each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. You guys aren't missing smut because of this cut. They just make out for a bit.


	10. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a few days since I updated so have an extra long chapter.

BANG! It was painfully loud. Michael’s ears rang, and he let out a soft grunt as the butt of the gun kicked into his shoulder. “You’re getting better!” Ray shouted, over the sound of his own ringing ears. “That shot almost hit the target!” Michael sighed before narrowing his eyes at the paper silhouette of a person he was supposed to be shooting. Ray had been assigned to teach Michael how to shoot a gun. Ray was a good teacher. He was patient and he knew what he was doing. Michael had no doubt he would eventually be a decent shot. The only problem was, he only had a week until his first heist. He didn’t want to be an embarrassment, or worse, a detriment to the Fakes. Michael squeezed off another shot and ended up stumbling backwards into Ray, who was standing right behind him in order to catch him if the kickback was too much. Ray wrapped his arms around Michael and wiggled his eyebrows at him. Michael grimaced and flicked on his gun’s safety before letting the gun fall to his side.

“Get off me,” Michael grumbled. Ray laughed and let him go.

“Aw, what’s the matter? You don’t seem to mind cuddling when it’s 

Gavin.” Michael turned bright red.

“Sh-shut up,” he spluttered. “That’s not true…” Ray rolled his eyes.

“Dude, you and Gav came back to the hideout last night drunk and with hickeys on your necks.” Michael clapped a hand to his neck, his blush deepening. He had no idea. Hadn’t looked in the mirror… _Fuck._ Ray shook his head, looking a little exasperated. “Don’t freak out, man. I’m pretty sure every single person in the crew has at least made out with Gav. He gets around, that one.” This did little to reassure Michael. Instead, it just made him feel ill and he wasn’t exactly sure why. Ray must have noticed Michael’s soured mood, because suddenly Ray’s playful demeanor vanished. “You don’t actually have, like, _feelings_ for him, do you? Because I don’t think he means to lead any of _us_ on. It’s just that everyone wants Gavin, even though he’s a total shithead. It’s one of those undeniable facts of life.” Michael groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Please stop talking. I don’t have fucking feelings for Gavin. He’s a smug prick and I would rather punch him than kiss him.” That suddenly felt very, very true, even though Michael knew he was perfectly content kissing Gavin just yesterday. Stupid, fucking Gavin. Michael switched off the gun’s safety, aimed, fired, and blasted the target in the chest. Ray clapped him on the shoulder.

“Nice one! ...Just remember that the target is never anyone on your crew,” Ray said, sounding a bit nervous.

  


Michael had already become a bit infamous at the headquarters for his near apocalyptic rage. It was obvious to everyone when he was in a foul mood and the only ones who dared mess with him when he was stomping around and slamming doors were Ryan and Geoff, because they knew Michael was too intimidated take his anger out on them. Geoff teased because he wanted Michael to relax around him, Ryan teased because he found Michael’s trepidation towards him _hilarious._ So when Michael spent the next few days with dark clouds hanging over him, Ryan made it his personal mission to piss Michael off even further. It wasn’t until Ryan started clotheslining Michael with his arm, throwing it out in front of Michael as they walked, that Michael snapped. He turned around and clocked Ryan right in his painted face. “...Fuck.” Michael squeaked, instantly regretting his actions. He was _dead._ He was _so_ dead. Michael’s predicted death seemed to be confirmed when he suddenly found himself on his back, feeling dazed after his head had smacked painfully into the ground. Ryan was straddling his waist, hands on Michael’s shoulders, effectively pinning him. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Ryan was grinning like the absolute madman he was, blood issuing from his nose, running down his lips, and dripping off his chin onto Michael’s chest.

“Fucking _finally,_ Michael,” Ryan said cheerfully. Michael stopped struggling to get out from under Ryan, confused.

“Uh, what?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to stop being a pussy bitch and fight back. Now we can have some fun.” Michael swallowed thickly.

“What do you mean by that?” Ryan rolled his eyes.

“Stop looking at me like I’m going to tear your throat out. I mean _sparring._ You make me bleed, I make you bleed. Nothing like a good brawl to calm someone’s pissy ass down. So come on, Jones, _hit_ me.” Well, Michael couldn’t argue with logic like that. Besides, excitement was already bubbling up in him. He could feel that fire lighting inside him. _This_ was the thrill he needed. Michael recalled how alive he felt when he was fighting in juvie. Michael drove his fist into Ryan’s stomach. While Ryan was wheezing, Michael squirmed out from beneath him. They both got to their feet. Now Michael was grinning too.

They had been fighting for about an half hour. Their shirts and faces and fists were splattered with each other’s and their own blood. Ryan had Michael pinned down again. Michael was on his knees, face pressed to the ground. Ryan had Michael’s arm hoisted high behind his back, his shoulder aching with the strain. Ryan laughed and Michael felt rumble of it where Ryan was pressed against him. “Looks like I win, Michael. Now why don’t you tell me what’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“Nothing,” Michael lied and then let out a piteous groan as Ryan lifted Michael’s wrist just a bit higher. “You’re gonna break my arm, asshole.”

“Not if you tell me what’s up.” Michael sighed. He had little choice. It would only take a small bit of movement to cause Michael’s bone to snap.

“It’s just Gavin. He pisses me off sometimes.” Ryan laughed again.

“That’s it? I guess I get it. He’s a smarmy little asshole. Punching him is almost as satisfying as seeing him squirming and moaning beneath me.” Michael grimaced.

“Not an image I needed, dickbag. Get off me.” Ryan released him and Michael readjusted so he was facing Ryan. Michael rubbed his shoulder with a pained expression.

“If he pisses you off, just hit him. I do it all the time.” Michael wasn’t so sure. He didn’t want to become his father, just beating anything that didn’t do exactly what he wanted.

“I don’t know…”

“Well, whatever you do, do it quickly. Geoff doesn’t like us not getting along. He might put you two in timeout. Though,” Michael jumped when Ryan suddenly touched Michael’s neck, fingers brushing over the hickeys Gavin had given him, “it kind of looks like you two get along just fine.” Michael jerked away.

“From what I hear, this isn’t Gavin getting along with me, it’s just how Gavin interacts with people.” Ryan chuckled.

“Oh, I get it. You’re _jealous.”_

“What? No, I’m _not_. Why does everyone keep saying that?!” Fucking ridiculous. How blind could people get? Obviously Michael just found Gavin irritating. “You make out with a guy one time when you’re drunk, and suddenly everyone thinks you’re fucking in love.” Ryan snickered and ruffled Michael’s hair. Michael growled and pulled away.

“You’re adorable.” Michael’s scowl deepened. “Look, don’t waste your time chasing after Gav. He’s a good, warm hole, but he’d never be faithful. Just fuck him, get that sexual tension out and move on. You like ladies, too? There’s a couple single ladies in this crew. You might like Lindsay.” Michael couldn’t believe _the_ Vagabond was trying to give him dating advice, as well as trying to hook him up. Michael didn’t know whether to be humiliated or flattered. Michael shook his head.

“Look, it’s not like that. He just gets under my skin. He gets under everyone’s skin. I just have a bad temper.” Ryan shrugged.

“Suit yourself.” And that was the end of it.

  


Michael was feeling nervous. The crew was gathered in Geoff’s office, staring up at a large map of Los Santos. Geoff was briefing them on their upcoming heist, giving out everyone’s assignments. Michael’s shooting skills had improved considerably, but he was still afraid of fucking things up. Michael had expected to be given some easy job, like maybe waiting outside, ready with the getaway car, but Geoff put Michael in charge of explosives. This plan involved several explosions along the way that had to be timed perfectly or everything would go to shit. “Don’t worry,” Geoff had said, sensing Michael’s hesitation. “All the explosives will be measured out beforehand by Jack. All you have to do is stick the right ones on the right things and push the button at my signal.” Michael had just nodded numbly.

It wasn’t just the heist they were about to pull in a matter of hours that was leaving a heavy stone in the pit of Michael’s stomach; Gavin was staring at Michael morosely, burning holes in the side of Michael’s head. He seemed completely blindsided by Michael’s sudden refusal to talk to him or be near him. Michael felt a little bad. He wasn’t even sure what it was about Gavin that was twisting his insides so painfully, but he just knew he couldn’t face Gavin. It might be panic over their making out. Michael was supposed to be straight, after all. Geoff had to clear his throat to get Gavin’s attention, telling him his job was to hack into the bank’s security system, as well as try not to almost die for the “ninety billionth fucking time.” Gavin cocked a grin and gave a thumbs up but when Geoff’s attention moved elsewhere, Gavin went back to staring at Michael.

Eventually, they were excused and everyone filtered out of the room. Michael made to follow everyone else but Gavin caught Michael by the arm, holding him back. Michael tried to yank himself free but Gavin was a lot stronger than he looked. Once everyone else was out of earshot, Gavin spoke, “What the hell is your problem, mate?” The anger in Gavin’s voice took Michael by surprise. Michael didn’t even know Gavin could _be_ angry.

“What are you talking ab--” Gavin cut him off.

“Oh, bugger off. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been ignoring me for days. Is it about kissing me? Are you having some sort of gay panic? Because trust me, everyone in this crew is a little bit gay. It’s actually a little eerie.” Michael wasn’t sure how to respond to that bit of information. Thrown for a loop, he sputtered around, searching for words.

“I… what? What do… I mean, no. No, that’s not what this is about. You just _irritate_ me. You’re so fucking insufferably pe--MMPH!” Michael was cut off by Gavin’s lips crashing into his. Michael’s back hit the wall and for a moment he relaxed into the feeling of Gavin’s mouth on his, Gavin’s tongue pressing into his lips, trying to pry them open. Then Michael snapped back to the reality and he shoved Gavin away. “What the _fuck?!_ What the hell was that?!” Gavin smirked and wiped his mouth.

“For someone who finds me so annoying, you seem to like kissing me quite a bit, boi.” Michael narrowed his eyes, willing away the flush that crept up his face at Gavin’s words.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Michael snapped, at a loss for anything else to say.

“Just a term of endearment.” Gavin shrugged and he was pressing his lips to Michael’s again and seriously, _what the hell?_ Didn’t Gavin know when to fucking quit? Michael didn’t hesitate before pushing Gavin away this time.

“Stop that!” Michael bristled at the smug look on Gavin’s face. He obviously knew how flustered he was making Michael, how whenever Gavin kissed him, it made Michael’s stomach do funny flips. Michael hated Gavin for being so proud of fucking with Michael’s head like this. “It doesn’t fucking mean anything to you, so why do you keep doing it?” Michael’s voice sounded shakier than he would have liked it to. Gavin looked a little surprised.

“What? What do you mean?” And really, how dare Gavin act stupid? Michael grit his teeth.

“Look, I know you fuck around with everyone here. Ryan wouldn’t shut the fuck up about how much he loves fucking you and Ray said--” Gavin had the nerve to start laughing. The fire in Michael’s stomach had nothing to do with feeling alive and everything to do with being fucking _furious_.

“Oh, I get it. You’re jeal--” Michael didn’t let Gavin finish that word. His fist connected with Gavin’s stupid beak of a nose.

“I’M! NOT! FUCKING! JEALOUS!”Gavin stumbled backwards, holding his face. Michael could see blood dripping past Gavin’s hands and it was okay. It was okay because Michael wouldn’t be like his father if he let people hit him back. Michael made himself open for retaliation, but it never came. Instead Gavin lowered his hands and fucking _smiled_. It was a little off from Gavin’s normal goofy grin. Maybe because it was bloody, or maybe because there was a predatory glint in Gavin’s eyes.

“Feel better?” No. No he didn’t because Michael wasn’t bruised and bleeding yet.

“No. Hit me.” Gavin looked surprised.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Michael spat. “Don’t be a pussy. Hit me, _boi_.” The nickname was said in a mocking tone. Gavin shrugged and drove his fist into Michael’s stomach. Oh yeah. Stronger than he looked. Michael wheezed and fell to his hands and knees, but that same spark he felt when fighting Ryan was back. This is what he needed. He felt Gavin’s fingers in his hair, stroking through his curls gently.

“Now do you feel better?” A little but…

“No. Do it again,” Michael panted, still trying to catch his breath after Gavin knocked it out of him. The hand in his hair stilled.

“Okay, I’m a little confused.” Michael grabbed Gavin’s legs and yanked them out from under him. Gavin yelped as he went crashing to the ground. Michael groaned when Gavin’s foot connected with Michael’s chest, laying him flat out on his back. “I don’t get you, boi, but if this means you’ll stop ignoring me, I’ll do it. Tell me when you want to stop, okay?” Michael nodded, feeling dazed.

  


The scuffle didn’t last long. At some point they stopped exchanging blows and started exchanging saliva. Michael shoved his tongue into Gavin’s mouth hungrily, groaning when Gavin rolled his hips into Michael’s. Michael tasted blood and he wasn’t sure whose it was. He wasn’t even sure how they ended up like this. One moment Gavin was hitting him, and the next they were kissing and Michael was rock hard in his jeans. Michael’s hips bucked at the feel of Gavin palming his dick through his pants. “Gav,” Michael panted into Gavin’s mouth. Michael’s hands found Gavin’s waistband and he yanked Gavin's pants down, revealing Gavin’s tented boxers. Michael fished out Gavin’s cock. It was uncircumcised, unlike Michael’s own dick, so Michael was a little unsure about what he was doing. However, when Gavin mewled and thrust his hips, seeking more friction, Michael got with the program real quick. He fisted Gavin’s cock, pumping it roughly. Eventually, with a bit of direction, Michael found a good rhythm, pushing Gavin’s foreskin down and rolling it back over his head. It seemed to be driving Gavin wild. He was whining and thrusting up into Michael's hand. Michael’s own cock was throbbing painfully in his pants, but soon enough, Gavin was tugging Michael’s pants down, along with his boxers. Electric pleasure lanced up Michael’s spine when Gavin gripped Michael’s dick.

“Come closer, Michael.” Gavin’s voice was low and husky and it made Michael shiver. He obliged scooting forward. He was surprised when Gavin shooed Michael’s hand away from him, but Michael’s unasked question was answered when Gavin gripped both of their dicks in one hand and stroked them together. Michael let out a throaty moan that was muffled by Gavin’s mouth on his. Gavin’s teeth nipped at Michael’s lower lip and Michael shuddered and pressed his mouth closer. He let out a soft noise of disappointment when Gavin pulled away to speak. “Do you like pain? Is that what this is about?” Michael was caught off guard by the question. Did he like pain? It’s not like every time he banged his elbow, he got hard. It’s not like he enjoyed the beatings he received from his father. Yet, when Gavin hit him, when Ryan had his arm twisted behind back, Michael couldn’t help but feel a thrill he usually only got from setting fires.

“I don’t know,” Michael breathed out. Gavin nodded like he understood, before he rocked their hips together. The slide of their cocks against each other pulled another moan from Michael’s throat.

“Do you want me to hurt you more?” The nips Gavin placed against Michael’s jaw felt like a promise of something more.

“Yes, _please,_ Gavvy.” Gavin let out a contented hum at the nickname and his teeth closed hard around Michael’s earlobe. Michael’s cock jumped and he groaned. He pressed himself as close as possible to Gavin, wrapping his arms around the Brit. He rutted against Gavin as Gavin sunk his teeth into Michael’s shoulder. “G-Gav.” Michael’s voice was broken and needy. Gavin reached up with his free hand to run his fingers through Michael’s hair. Michael pressed into the touch. He was torn between pain and pleasure. He wasn’t sure what was going to get him off first. Michael latched his mouth to Gavin’s throat, sucking a hickey into his Adam’s apple. He felt the vibration of Gavin’s moan as Gavin tugged Michael’s hair hard. At the same time, Gavin ran a thumb over the head of Michael’s cock. Michael saw white. Ecstasy coursed through his veins as he splattered their stomachs with his cum. Gavin followed him over the edge, murmuring Michael’s name. For a moment they just sat there, panting, foreheads pressed together. Then Gavin broke the silence,

“Feel better now, boi?” Michael nodded.

“You know, I said punch him _or_ fuck him. Not both. But whatever floats your boat, I guess.” Michael tensed at the sound of Ryan’s voice and tried to pull away from Gavin but Gavin held him tight. They turned to see Ryan leaning against the door frame, smirking at them.

“Dude, how long have you been fucking standing there?” Michael demanded. Ryan shrugged and grinned.

“Long enough. Geoff is going to be _pissed_ if he finds out you two frotted in his office.” Michael burned with embarrassment.

“Better get cleaned up, you two. Your both fucking messes. Heist’s on in like an hour and if you turn up looking like that, Jack and Geoff’ll have aneurysms.” Ryan snickered, as if he would like nothing more to see Geoff and Jack have aneurysms. Gavin finally let Michael go and Michael scrambled to cover himself up. “Next time, you two better invite me to the fight fuck.”


End file.
